Lufthansa Flight LH3400

By agnelli

Fri, 11 Nov 2011
  • 1072 reads
4 comments
 

Food at altitude
Is not good.
A tiny gherkin lurking
Amid a hash of cold kartoffel
(Looking a little bit penile)
Smiles at this distressed diner,
While, by its side
A shrunken frankenfurter,
Pink and naked, moistly luxuriates
Like a baby pissing in its nappy.
I deftly snap my airfix fork together
And pierce my dog, which spurts, and squeaks,
And, oh so softly, farts.
No, food at altitude
Is never good. In fact,
It seems to be getting shitter.
Stewardess?
Noch einmal whisky, bitte.

Certificate PG
Poem
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by scratch on
I like the message . And I like the poetry - even though it needs a little more care. But what does one expect when you write, jetlagged over Europe and then, bravely post; with as must audacity as the in-flight proveners. I remember chicken with a "fragrant tarragon sause" [sic] courtesy of Monarch with the same sweet fondness. Great read. Scratch. PS And I know that you can't start a sentence with "and".

 

Submitted by ScoZen on
How I don't miss airline "...Food at altitude..." Regards
ScoZen

Submitted by Florian on
Great read, I'll never eat another frankfurter.

Submitted by agnelli on
Thanks for the comments, folks.